“I need that brooch, Miss Gold,” he said, his voice growing stronger. “I don’t care why you have hidden it from your family, but that piece was not his to sell. It belongs to the dowager countess, and she has a great deal of influence among the elite. If you—and Mrs. Dove-Lyon—wish to keep your business dealings private, then I suggest you return it to me now. Otherwise, I cannot answer to what she will do. Her granddaughter is to be presented at court in a few weeks’ time, and every female Morthan has worn that brooch during their presentation since the time of William the Conqueror."
Well, hell, that was trouble for sure. But they were not in the habit of returning purchases. Certainly not without an offer of significant recompense. So, she raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “Unfortunately, I cannot make something appear that we do not have. Perhaps the dowager countess merely misplaced it. After all, if it is hers, then how would her grandson have gotten hold of it to sell to us?” A reasonable, logical answer, except this man knew better.
“You and I both know the answer. Larry is a light-fingered fool. He stole it and gambled it away here.”
She shook her head. “I do not remember him, my lord.” A bald-faced lie.
“That will not make a difference when the constable comes knocking.”
“The constable!” Mrs. Dove-Lyon exclaimed. “Really, Lord Byrn, threats do you no credit. Perhaps we can come to some arrangement. You say the dowager countess has lost her brooch? Well, the Gold family can fashion a brooch, can they not?”
Amber smiled sweetly, knowing that unlike the light-fingered Larry, Lord Byrn appeared to have a great deal of ready blunt. “Of course, we can. What sort of design—”
“The original design,” he snapped, clearly frustrated with the conversation so far. “The original brooch.”
“Which we do not have,” Amber said, her voice matching his in tone. “So, either commission a new one, or I need to return to my grandfather.” She shot Lord Byrn an ugly look. “It is time for his special tea. The one from China that clears his sight and steadies his hands for the work he loves to do.”
She was about to turn away when his expression shifted. Instead of the imperious lord, he softened into a charming scapegrace. He laughed in a light kind of desperation and reached out with long, elegant fingers. Fingers, she noted with surprise, that sported callouses. “Please, please, you must forgive my frustration. This has been a difficult task for a family that is not even my own.”
That was true, which brought her to the obvious question. “Why does it fall to you?”
“I am sponsoring a resolution in the House of Lords to help our wounded veterans. As you know, so many have come from Waterloo, a shadow of their former selves. They have nothing but the clothes on their backs and nightmares that plague them. Surely you know this.” He turned to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “You yourself have done good work in hiring the military men. They guard your doors with skill, but there are so many more that need help.”
Very true.The stories she had heard from the dozen who guarded their den were terrifying enough. “But what has that to do with the countess’s brooch?”
“Her son, Lord Morthan, will vote with me if I return the missing brooch.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon sniffed. “You cannot appeal to his sense of duty? To his patriotism? It is only fitting that the Crown help those who have given so much for our own defense!”
“I agree!” Lord Byrn said. The passion was clear in his voice. “That is why I am working so tirelessly to accomplish what must be done. For our wounded soldiers who have given so much.”
“Yes, of course,” said Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “Quite proper.”
Well, he had the Lyon eating out of his hands.And if there was any doubt, the woman then turned to Amber with a pleading expression. “Can you think of no way to help, Thisbe?” she pressed.
“I cannot sell what I do not have. The brooch is not here.”
“But it was here,” Lord Byrn pressed. “Larry did sell it to you.”
She could not admit the truth. Aristocrats did not like to be thwarted, and he would like it even less to find out that the piece had been melted for parts.
“I don’t have it,” she repeated, investing her words with the absolute truth.
“Then who does?” asked Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
Amber winced. It was one thing to ignore his lordship. He would likely never grace the Den again. But Mrs. Dove-Lyon carried their lease for the store below and their position inside the Den. She had the ability to toss them out at her whim. Plus, she already knew that Mr. Laurence John had sold the piece to them. Which meant she likely guessed what had happened. She made that very clear in the next moment as she set down her teacup with an audible click.
“I wish to help Lord Byrn,” declared Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “I have heard much of his political influence. His resolution would help a great many people.”
Amber sighed. She had no choice but to tell the truth now. Mrs. Dove-Lyon did not often give aid, but when she did, she expected others to comply. Amber grit her teeth and met Lord Byrn’s gaze.
“The piece is gone, my lord. It did come to us, but is now gone.”
“Sold to whom? Who would purchase such a thing?”
She would. To melt it down and make something beautiful out of an old, crusty ornament, so clearly unloved.
“No one purchased it,” she bit out. “It was melted down last week. I have only the main stone, and a bit of gold left. The rest went into other pieces.” She added a last part because she was angry. “And there were only seven diamonds. The eighth had gone missing.”